


Wanting To Get A Head

by hobert



Series: Halloween Series [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobert/pseuds/hobert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A plane crash, a deserted house, and an unexpected visitor give Duncan, Tessa, and Richie a night they will never, ever forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting To Get A Head

Richie Ryan looked out the small side window of the Cessna airplane, trying desperately to make out anything in the driving rain. Occasional bursts of lightning lit up the clouds, but beyond the wings of the small craft, only darkness prevailed. He couldn't see the stars, couldn't see the ground, knew in his mind that only magic and a prayer kept them from plummeting to the ground. Actually, wilderness. Heights, and wilderness. Those scared him almost as much as anything else in the last four months.   
  
It was bad enough he had never even left the city limits in all his eighteen years. Nor even had enough money in his pockets, nor a foster family that cared to treat him with a trip to the Seacouver Tower observation deck. His world had revolved around concrete, cement and glass, all at ground level. He was a street kid. That fact, as much as any other, had changed once he met Duncan MacLeod. A lot of things had changed. His clothes, his attitude. Like being able to decide what he did with his time. Now, he could look forward to invoices, shipments, openings and exhibits, customers. Certain things were expected of the newest staff member of the distinguished gallery of Noel & MacLeod. And one of those had required his first ride in an airplane.   
  
He had known about the plans for flying to the opening of Tessa's showing in Chicago for several weeks, had even been responsible (successfully) for shipping her pieces to the gallery on time and in perfect shape. But his mental picture of a sleek Boeing 747 was burst the second he saw Duncan standing next to the tiny crop duster at the airport. He almost, but not quite, fainted.   
  
It was too soon after his 'adoption' to feel comfortable arguing about the choice of transportation. He just climbed in and slumped into a rear seat next to the luggage. And hoped no one would look back and see how green his face was. Then they were taxiing for take-off, and all Richie worried about was not throwing up.   
  
That first trip had been in the early morning, a bright day with no weather to obscure the ground racing by. When they had landed, he had almost talked himself out of the paralyzing fear he felt. After that, he was busy again, playing errand boy at the showing, answering a myriad of questions asked by those not lucky enough to congregate with the artist and her paramour. Occasionally, he handed out one of the business cards he was so proud of, telling a prospective buyer to "call us next week." By all accounts, a productive and successful evening.   
  
By the time the party was winding down, and Duncan had finally given permission for a glass of champagne, Richie was feeling mighty pleased with himself. No high school diploma, no fancy training, and he was still pulling his own weight around the antique store. Neither Tessa nor Duncan's eyes showed that brief hint of panic when he told them of a sale nowadays. In fact, just last week, a painting was priced at his figure, not one of theirs. "Yes, sir," he had gloated. "Things are looking up for this puppy."   
  
Right now, being up was the last thing Richie was wishing for. All the rosy contentment vanished the second the little Cessna took off. Soon, they encountered a storm, causing the plane to dip and shake. "Turbulence," Duncan had told them. Roller coaster ride, Richie thought. His hands were white where they clenched the seat, his eyes closed as he fought the nausea. In front of him, the two lovers were talking, but all he did was pray. Yes, the wise-cracking Ryan was fervently praying. He promised God and the Devil anything if he only lived through this night.   
  
An electrical charge jolted Richie, a bright flash visible through his clenched eyelids. The clap of thunder deafened him, so close he could smell the ozone. One engine down, Duncan informed the rest. It was impossible to hear the other one cough and sputter in the storm, but Richie imagined he felt the throbbing through the cabin walls. Then it stopped as well, his heart freezing in his chest. "Our father, who art in...."   
  
"We're going down," Duncan announced, a little too calmly for Richie's taste. Yeah, a fat lot of good for us, he angrily thought.  _You'll_ come out of this smelling like a rose, and...   
  
"Shit!"   
  
The floor dropped out as gravity failed, Richie's stomach suddenly located in his throat. There was no time to apologize for his outburst of profanity, no time to put his head between his legs and kiss his ass goodbye. Only time to hope the madding scream was something in his head, and not coming from his mouth as he pictured the ragged timberline swiftly approaching.   
  
"I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die," he repeated, over and over. His voice rose after each quick breath, afraid that the next would never come. His heart pounded as his ears popped and tears flowed. "Please, I don't...," he started to say, before the sound of the aircraft smashing into the trees drowned him out. He had time for one last screech as the plane suddenly slowed, Richie's head snapping forward into Duncan's seat. Then all that remained was blackness.   
  


* * *

  
"He's coming around," he heard Tessa say, aware of how much like his picture of an angel she had become. Or visa versa. His head throbbed, and so did other injured parts of his body. Trying to sit up only made things worse, so he lay there, waiting. "Duncan," Tessa called.   
  
Surprisingly gently hands lifted his head as a soft object was placed under it, then lay it back down, a make-shift pillow to ease the pain. He was sprawled on the cold and hard ground. It wasn't raining, but in the distance, the soft sounds of thunder echoed. Only a matter of time before the storm caught up with them.   
  
"Richie?" Duncan's strong voice cut through the haze. He wanted to respond, wanted to cuss out MacLeod for this mess. All he managed was a groan, but it was enough. "Try not to move," the Highlander said, softer this time. "You probably have a concussion, and your left arm is broken." There was sympathy mixed with concern in the hushed tones. "It's already been set, but I need to disinfect the wound where the bone cut through. All we have is alcohol...."   
  
Then agony burst through the fog of Richie's mind, scorching pain racing from his arm to every part of his body. Hands held him down, kept him from struggling. He could hear his own wail, wondering what he had ever done in his life to deserve this. It was Hell. Only pain surrounded him.   
  
Deep inside, where he had long ago learned to hide his true feelings, a calmness waited. Over the years, when things had gone from bad to worse, it beckoned to him. Surprised, he had always backed away. Never before had he any reason to search it out, but now, all he wanted was for the pain to stop. Forever. He embraced the calm, letting its cool, soothing hands ease his torment. Death is a sweet lover, he thought, a snippet from English class surfacing. Not death, the calmness chuckled. Something entirely different.   
  
He didn't care. As long as it stopped the anguish, he welcomed it. No longer concerned with living, Richie Ryan's heart stopped.   
  


* * *

  
Tessa bent her head closer to Richie's face. "He's not breathing," she cried, drawing Duncan's attention from the open wound. Quickly, he set the wine bottle and cloth strips down, shuffling on his knees to Richie's head. It only took a few seconds for his two fingers to search for a pulse. Or lack thereof.   
  
"Damn," Duncan cursed, abandoning all attempts at gentleness. One hand grabbed the coat, jerking it from under Richie's head. The other pulled up on the youth's neck, opening the throat passage. Without hesitation, the Highlander pinched the nose shut, breathing two quick puffs of air down Richie's mouth. A brief check for breath sounds, and Duncan repeated the process. Still no response.   
  
Cupping his hands, Duncan began CPR, compressing the teenager's chest, then forcing more air into Richie's lungs. Over and over, he repeated the cycle, not willing to give up. "It's too soon," he muttered cryptically in between numbers.   
  
Luck was finally with the trio. Richie coughed, then gasped in a lungful of air. Duncan sat back on his haunches, breathing heavily himself. It was then the first drops of rain fell, reminding everyone the storm was still with them.   
  


* * *

  
Dawn found them huddled in the remains of the plane's cabin, the only piece large enough to provide any kind of shelter. The rain had slacked off to a drizzle, and only the transformation of the skies from black to gray had signaled the sun was up. No one had been able to sleep. Even though they had a roof over their heads, the wind had been fierce, and they were all soaked to the skin. Richie was surprisingly lucid, complaining every ten minutes about how cold and miserable he was. And how much the splints on his arm itched.   
  
Duncan was the first to venture away from the plane, trying to find a better shelter. Tessa stayed with Richie, huddling close to him for warmth in the cold air. The teenager chattered incessantly, all the while Tessa softly replied, trying to keep him calm. She let him reach for his forehead with his good hand, sympathetically grimacing as he hissed when his fingers found the wound. It wasn't hard to pull his arm down, his eyes full of tears. A quick check of the bandages on his broken arm showed the bleeding there had finally stopped. It seemed a miracle that Richie was alive.   
  
"After we landed, Duncan was in pretty bad shape," she had told him. "I looked back, and everything behind us was gone. The tail end, your seat, the luggage." Duncan had instantly healed, of course. And Tessa had somehow walked away almost unscathed. "Except for a few bumps and bruises," she added. Richie was the one that had gotten the brunt of it. They had found him a few terror-filled minutes later, still belted into his seat, unconscious and bleeding profusely.   
  
The youth chuckled, waiting a second while his head throbbed before explaining. "Well, I am getting used to being a punching bag," he offered, his first attempt at his usual humor all morning. By the time Duncan returned, the pair was reduced to giggles, each trying to top the other with disaster stories.   
  
"I'm glad everyone's enjoying this little detour," the Highlander joked. In the only spare shirt, he carried a pile of berries, offering the food to Tess and Richie. "I found one suitcase, and there's a house. It's apparently been abandoned for a *long* time, but it seems safe. Spotted a chimney, so we can probably make a fire."   
  
Richie hungrily grabbed a handful of the berries, stuffing them in his mouth greedily before stopping to think. "Thss mmare smme?," he mumbled with his mouth full, his features screwed up in apprehension.   
  
"They're edible," Duncan replied, laughing as he handed the rest to Tessa. She happily popped two in her mouth, then chased them down with a handful of rainwater. "Though not real filling," he added as an afterthought.   
  
Tessa bent over and kissed him, before cling out of the cabin. "I don't know about you, but the thought of a dry, enclosed room and a warm fire is very appealing," she said, finishing off the berries. "Unless you want to stay?"   
  
Richie shook his head, moaning softly when it hurt. She and Duncan bent down, gently lifting the teenager to his feet. With his good arm over the Highlander's shoulders, and Duncan's hand around his waist, he began limping in the direction Duncan pointed. After a hundred yards, Tessa sprinted off to find the wayward suitcase.   
  
Mobile, finally, and somewhat clear headed, Richie looked around the place they had crashed. It was forest, something that would show up on the Discovery Channel. They had landed in a long valley, with tall mountains surrounding them. No sign of life or civilization. Only the dull roar of unseen thunder, and the patter of rain on the ground.   
  
Tessa was the first to see the bridge. She stopped, the suitcase by her side. Duncan tightened his grip on Richie, pulling him to a halt. It was a wooden structure, no more than a floor and railings over the stream. On this side, two tall ash poles flanked the path, rusted metal lanterns at the top. In places, the wooden planks had rotted, leaving holes over the rushing water.   
  
"The right side is stable," Duncan informed them, letting Tessa cross first before helping Richie. "This was why I wasn't surprised to find the house. You don't build a bridge in the middle of nowhere." The teenager had taken two steps across before he stopped, suddenly looking around, frightened. "What is it?," Duncan asked, not bothering to call out to Tessa.   
  
It was a moment before Richie replied. "Something's...different," he said, hesitantly. "It's quieter." Duncan waited to see if the young man would say more, but all Richie did was sag a little, fatigued from the walk.   
  
"We're almost there, tough guy," Duncan said, now almost carrying the teenager. They caught up with Tessa on the other side. Richie spared a single glance back before concentrating on the path before them, an overgrown track.   
  
It wasn't long before the house appeared behind a bend in the path. The area around it was cleared, and off in the distance they could hear the stream rushing by. It perched on a small rise, lording over the wild countryside. It was two stories tall, and of a very old design. Tessa guessed American Revolution and Duncan agreed. A few of the wooden shutters were missing, and the roof drooped, but it still looked inviting.   
  
Duncan had kicked in the front door when he first explored the abode, and as promised, the front room was dry, enclosed, and sported a fireplace. Duncan urged his charge to lie down, but Richie stubbornly refused. Instead, the Highlander helped him amble to a corner before leaving to find dry wood.   
  
"Let's see," Tessa absently said as she opened the suitcase. "It seems our change of clothing fared as well as we did. Shirt. Vest. Camouflage pants. One tuxedo." As she named each item, she laid the soggy clothing on the floor. "Ah, ha. Ugly green jacket." Triumphantly, she held up Richie's leather coat. "Flip you for it."   
  
Richie chuckled. "I've already been flipped," he said. "Go ahead, you're freezing." He didn't mention he was freezing as well. For some unlikely reason, he was turning into a nice guy the more he hung around these people. He sighed as she put it on, wishing for the days when he didn't care what happened to anyone else.   
  
Duncan entered, carrying an armful of what looked like pieces from a broken chair or two. "Tessa, you still have a lighter?" The artist nodded, digging the item from her pants. Within minutes, the furniture fragments were burning away, brightening the dreary room with light and a cheerful popping. "We need to get out of these wet clothes," Duncan added after finishing with the fire.   
  
Richie looked down in embarrassment when Tessa began taking off clothing. He was struggling futilely with his shirt when Duncan walked up. The young man didn't want to ask for help, but his good hand was having difficulty with the buttons. "Let me help you," Duncan offered, reaching for them.   
  
Richie snorted. Famous last words, he thought. It always seemed someone was trying to help. That's what his foster parents had said, but when the going got tough, help was the last thing he got. No help, no understanding, no love. Just thrown back into the system so many times....   
  
By now, the teenager had learned to stop this train of thought. Still not looking up as he felt the Highlander's hands unbuttoning his shirt, he focused on the large rent in Duncan's sweater. "One of the engine rods," Duncan informed him, noticing the interest. Richie's hand absently brushed the unbroken skin that was visible, healed in minutes instead of days. "Jealous?" Duncan joked. Richie's startled look of surprise as his head shot up showed how close to the mark the Highlander had hit. Neither said another word as Duncan pulled off Richie's shirt, careful of the arm, then started on the pants.   
  


* * *

  
Richie dozed by the fire all afternoon, never looking at anything but the flames. He wasn't so worried about seeing Tessa in her underwear. After all, they did have a glass shower next to the dining area! No, it was her reaction to him in his undies that kept him from interacting with the other two. How could he ever hope to compare with MacLeod?   
  
The floor was dirty, but he didn't mind as he sprawled in front of the flame, drowsy from the soft patter of rain. Behind him, the pair whispered and giggled, their words unintelligible. Not that Richie was trying to eavesdrop.   
  
As night fell, Duncan placed Richie's dry camouflage pants within reach. It was difficult to wiggle into them with his injured arm, but he was damned if MacLeod had to dress him. The Highlander was once again in his tuxedo pants from last night. His vest, which Tessa had borrowed for the showing, was the only clothing on his torso.   
  
Tessa walked in from the next room as Richie stood, handing him his green jacket. The artist was wearing Duncan's travel pants, and his tux jacket. "I hope we don't run into the fashion police, out here," she joked, turning around for their inspection.   
  
"I'll be glad if we run into anyone out here," Richie replied, shrugging on his jacket. The leather felt good against his cold skin, still warm from Tessa's body heat. As if on cue, his stomach growled, loud enough to echo in the room. "A pizza delivery guy would be heaven."   
  
Duncan looked out the window. "I don't think so," he said, gauging the weather. The perpetual storm was starting to strengthen, the sound of rain battering the walls steadily growing. "There may be some more berries..."   
  
Richie snorted, interrupting the Highlander. "Berries won't cut it, Mac. I'm talking food. Real food." The anger he had been keeping check all afternoon threatened to boil over. The pain, the cold, the wet air; all combined in the heat Richie felt. If wasn't like he'd never been alone, at night in the cold. But in the city, there was always a shelter,a home, that would take you in with minimal fuss, at least for the night. Out here, there was only Duncan MacLeod - Great White Hunter.   
  
"I could see if I could snare a rabbit...."   
  
The mental picture of picking meat off a small bone drove Richie over the edge. "Like hell. We wouldn't be in this mess if we had acted like normal people and gone on an airline." Angrily, he shoved a finger at MacLeod. "But you have to be so different, and trust our lives on that deathtrap of a paper airplane...." He trailed off when he saw the emotion drain off on Duncan's face. That did notcome out at all as he had intended. Richie had not consciously thought of the Highlander's immortality, but that's how Duncan was taking it. Too upset to apologize, and too ashamed to continue, he stuttered, "forget it." He stormed from the room, too quickly for anyone to stop him.   
  


* * *

  
Richie used his energy to explore the upstairs. As he examined the deserted rooms, he could hear the soft conversation of Duncan and Tessa below. Angry at himself, the young man kicked at the trash gathered in the rooms, not expecting to find anything. He searched by occasional flashes of lightning, in no hurry to finish the job.   
  
I really screwed that up, he chided himself. He still was unable to categorize Duncan MacLeod, and the strange fascination the Immortal had with him. It could be just like he was told, that Duncan and Tessa wanted to give him a break. A line Richie had heard several times in his life. It always ended up the same.   
  
"You don't seem to be fitting in," the foster mother said.   
  
"He's not integrating well," the orphanage director told his social worker.   
  
"We treat you like our own child, and this is the thanks we get?" the man yelled before throwing him out on the street, his only possessions the clothes on his back.   
  
Richie imagined what Duncan would say. Tessa would have gone out of town, unable to bear the unpleasant situation. MacLeod would approach him in the office, dressed for some engagement or other. "It's not working out," Duncan would finally say, after dancing around in verbal circles until he found the moment to speak those words. "You're a good kid, and all...," he'd offer, a consolation prize. Then he'd reach out a hand, from under his coat, holding an envelope full of bills. As if money would solve Richie's problems. "I need to go," he'd close with, turning around and leaving. The request to be gone by the time he got back would remain unspoken, but not unheard.   
  
Richie didn't want to live on the streets again. He was too old for foster homes and the like. Hell, he was eighteen, a man. There might be enough cash to get a place at the "Y". Find a job, try to build another life again. Alone, again. Something else would happen; it always did. He'd run out of money, or get into trouble. End up in jail, this time as an adult, or worse, dead.   
  
The troubled youth was so lost in thought, he almost missed the small light outside one of the back windows. It flittered, though remaining in one place, like a campfire or such. Just down the rise, hidden away in the trees. So excited about the light, he did miss the dark, human shape standing just inside the clearing, watching the house.   
  


* * *

  
Of all the things Duncan expected out here, another of his kind wasn't one of them. With a start, he looked around the room, vainly trying to determine the direction the other Immortal was. He raced to his sword, motioning Tessa to a corner, standing in front of her. It was a difficult position to be in, visible inside a lit room to anyone outside. With care, he positioned the sword behind his arm, hoping the weapon was hidden in the dim light. They might be left alone if they were perceived as harmless.   
  
Footsteps pounded on the stairs, then Richie raced into the room. For a brief second Duncan hoped it was the young man he had felt, but the idea evaporated when Richie stepped into range. "Mac, you won't...."   
  
"Not now," Duncan barked. His eyes flitted from the window, to the two doors, straining to hear any sound of someone approaching. Richie could wait.   
  
The teenager was somewhat confused. Why was Duncan ignoring him? "There's something I think..."   
  
"I said not now," Duncan replied, wishing Richie would be quiet for a moment. Was that a footstep? Did the Immortal feel closer? How could he protect two mortals?   
  
"Mac...," Richie pleaded, taking a step toward the pair.   
  
"SHUT UP!" Duncan screamed. Richie froze. Their eyes locked, and the Highlander realized that some unspoken agreement between the two of them had been breached. Duncan watched something die, deep within the young man's blue eyes. They were cold and hard again, full of fear, like the first night they had met. Only this wasn't fear of just Duncan. This was deeper.   
  
Richie vanished out the doorway, his running footsteps growing faint. Weighing his choices, Duncan stood his ground, waiting for the other Immortal. There would always be time later to sort things out with the youth.   
  


* * *

  
It was cold, and dark outside. But so torn up inside, Richie didn't notice. The storm had stopped, and in its place, a chill wind blew. But it was colder still in the young man's heart. Instincts had taken over when Duncan had yelled, habits formed through three orphanages and four foster homes. It was always better to not be around when the old man shouted like that. Any of them.   
  
He stumbled through branches, trying to protect his face with his one good arm. Now, he wished he had gotten someone to zip up the jacket. Cold air blew underneath it, creating goose bumps on his bare flesh. Try as he might, he couldn't get the zipper started with one hand. Blindly, the young man walked, no longer able to guess where the house or plane wreckage was. The stream sounded close, though.   
  
Turning to his left, he crashed through the underbrush, startled when he saw a campfire after passing a tree. Possibly the same one he had seen out the window. They were rescued!   
  
Without a thought, he stumbled to the light, bursting into a deserted clearing, only a fire in the center. It was hot, and Richie welcomed the blaze, moving closer to warm his frozen hands. His teeth were chattering so much he never heard the stranger approach, yelping when the hand touched his shoulder. He turned, and stared at the new arrival, his mind freezing when he saw who, or what, it was.   
  


* * *

  
"Duncan, you fell asleep," Tessa gently spoke, shaking her lover's shoulder. With a start, the Highlander sat up, instantly awake from his light doze. Almost as soon as Richie had left, the Immortal had disappeared as well. Tessa and Duncan had sat in the corner, the Highlander in front of Tessa, and talked, waiting for Richie to make an appearance.   
  
For the third time in as many months, he asked her if she was fine with his decision to take in the kid. "It's difficult to suddenly have a complete stranger in your house," was his argument. Each time, Tessa had replied more and more sympathetically, warming up to the young man faster than Duncan had. Tonight, she wouldn't hear of letting Richie leave. The Highlander smiled, and kissed her. Silently, he thanked the gods that such a loving and warm woman was his companion.   
  
Sometime during their talk, Duncan had fallen asleep, the rigors of the last twenty-four hours taking their toll. Tessa napped as well. The fire had died to glowing embers and the room was almost pitch black. A strained look at his pocket watch told the Highlander almost six hours had passed. And no sign of Richie.   
  
It only took ten minutes for Tessa to reignite the fire and Duncan to search the house. Richie was gone. Probably right after Duncan had yelled at him. That was why the Immortal left, Duncan theorized. A quick curse escaped his lips. If he could feel the pre-Immortal, someone else might.   
  
Stepping into the last room upstairs, Duncan was surprised to see a faint light flickering outside the window. Walking to the glass, he was still unable to make out any details. The fire, or whatever, was hidden deep within the trees. That's what Richie had been trying to tell him.   
  
Not wishing to leave Tessa behind, the two stole away from the house, Duncan clutching his lover's hand in one of his own, his katana in the other. The light was invisible from the first floor, so they had no guide as they entered the forest.   
  


* * *

  
Duncan found the campfire in no time. The distinct smell of smoke led them straight to it. As they crept closer, Duncan managed to make out the lone figure in the clearing, weaving around with a sword. The figure rarely stopped, giving him no chance to make out any distinguishing features. But he, or she, was Immortal, and apparently damn good.   
  
Cautioning Tessa to stay hidden, the Highlander stepped into the light, katana at the ready. It was useless to hide, the annoying sense already giving away his presence. The figure stopped and turned, almost causing Duncan to drop his sword. It was Richie.   
  
The splint on the arm was gone, and the jacket fully zipped. The young man tossed the saber between his hands, giving no sign the arm had been broken only hours ago. The blue eyes were mysteriously gray, or the firelight was playing tricks. Had Richie been Awakened after the crash? And where the Hell did he find a sword?   
  
"I'm sure you were expecting someone else," Richie calmly said, giving a believable court bow. Duncan returned it, wondering where to begin. "I'm sure you know this one by a different name, but from now on, you may call me Ivan."   
  
"Where's Richie," Duncan blurted, unsure where things stood.   
  
"The boy? You'd best forget about him." Richie slowly moved around the fire, saber ready. "He was pathetically easy to overcome. And such a reward." To underscore his words, Richie flexed his torso, obviously relishing the movement. "I couldn't have planned to find better body."   
  
Duncan was still confused. "You're an Immortal?" he asked, redundantly, trying to draw Richie out. The Highlander circled, keeping the flame between them.   
  
Richie smiled. "Oh, yes," he said, feinting to the right. "I was an avid player of the Game, until I fought a Chinese priest. He told me I would be cursed if I decapitated him. Said I would never find Death. I thought he was crazy." The teenager shuddered, recalling the moment. "When I lost my head to a cannonball during your Revolution, I found out how sane he was. It is amazing how shocking it can be to lose one's head and not die. True immortality." The young man laughed. "I guess I should have learned who not to behead, but I never was a patient person."   
  
"Why Richie?" Duncan asked, not liking this story at all.   
  
"BECAUSE I NEEDED HIS HEAD," the teenager shouted in anger, his face flushing. "I don't advise going through life without a head. A pumpkin is no real substitute." With a yell, Richie dove through the flames, attacking Duncan. Backpedaling, the Highlander parried, until he finally trapped the saber against a tree.   
  
"Why are you here? Hiding in this valley?" Now Duncan was angry, convinced that something terrible was going on. The young man wasn't delusional, or schizophrenic, but truly possessed.   
  
The teenager's eyes flamed. "I managed to make it this far in the schoolteacher's body. Somehow, one of the local natives discovered my secret, and trapped me here." With a jerk, the saber pulled free, Richie bringing the sword up for another attack. "The whole place is surrounded by ash trees, which I cannot pass without a host. Chrane's body was destroyed, returning me to my accursed state, and I've been trapped here for centuries, WAITING FOR ANOTHER!" The young man began a second series of attacks that Duncan parried, but he was still pressed backwards, into the woods. "Now I've found an Immortal body, one that won't die on me. I'm free of my curse, and to celebrate, I'll take your head!"   
  
It was difficult for Duncan to fight, knowing the only way to stop Richie permanently was to take his head, an option the Highlander wasn't ready to make. Even if he was successful, it still wouldn't stop whatever this thing was. Richie would be dead, forever, and "Ivan" would be looking for a new body. Tessa or mine, Duncan thought. And how does one kill a headless Immortal?   
  
Duncan dove to the side, kicking out at Richie's sword arm, driving it toward a tree. With a scream, the young man dropped the saber, clutching at his wrist. "It's an ash," Duncan whispered under his breath. With a yell, he plowed into Richie, driving the teenager into the tree.   
  
Richie screamed when his back came into contact with the wood. He struggled, but the teenaged body was no match for Duncan's. The hate flamed in the gray eyes as Richie drove his knee into the Highlander's groin. Duncan pressed harder, feeling the trembles of pain wracking the young man.   
  
"Du...Duncan?" Richie stuttered, a look of terror in his now blue eyes. "Wh...why are..." he gasped. Duncan held him harder, trying to press the flesh into the ash tree. "Please...st...stop," Richie whispered, but the Highlander wouldn't listen. Sweat dripped from the youth, black as tar. It erupted from his very pores, dripping down his skin as he whimpered in agony. "Da...daddy. Do...don't hu...hurt mee..." Black smoke poured from his mouth and nostrils as he cried, his voice high and strained.   
  
With a final yell, the youth's body went limp, his skin pale and clammy. Duncan no longer felt the presence of an Immortal from Richie. He let up, gently lowering Richie to the ground. "Tessa," the Highlander called, the woman appearing at his elbow in seconds. "Take him past the bridge. You should be safe." She started to argue as Duncan helped her lift the teenager. "Do it. I'll deal with whatever that thing is." He could still feel the Immortal, waiting. "Go," he urged, propelling the pair along the stream.   
  
The Highlander stood his ground, his back pressed against the ash tree. No birds sang, no crickets chirped. Only the still silence of death. Chancing a look, Duncan eased his head around the tree.   
  
Suddenly, a large black stallion loomed in front of him, hooves striking at his face. A large surge of adrenaline hit as he swung the katana, aiming for the mount. His sword slid effortlessly through the apparition like it was smoke. Haunted laughter echoed in his ears as the horse and rider moved away, only to come at him from a different direction, almost silently in the woods.   
  
Duncan panicked, hoping he had bought enough time for his companions. Realizing the sword was useless against the phantasm chasing him, he tossed his katana aside. A quick breath, and he was off, running through the woods toward the bridge. His only hope of safety was to pass it before the specter caught him.   
  
He heard the throbbing of hoof beats behind him, could almost imagine the hot breath of the stallion on his neck. With each yard, he gritted his teeth harder, willing more of his power to his legs. His stride lengthened, the rhythm embraced as he weaved among the trees. With a jump, he entered the clearing around the deserted house, heading for the overgrown track.   
  
Hideous laughter chased him, the chill winds evaporating the sweat off his bare arms even as it formed. All his attentions were focused on the path, lit by moonlight. His thoughts centered on one foot in front of the other, over and over again. Nagging doubts about Richie, worry over Tessa, fears of his fate were set aside. There, ahead, was the bridge. And right behind him, the labored breathing of the horse and rider.   
  
"Mac," he heard Richie shout. Instinctively, he ducked. A large object passed over his head, impacting and shattering on the far side of the bridge, splattering orange goo on the planks. Terrified of stepping in it, Duncan leaped off the end of the bridge, tumbling as he landed on the ground.   
  
He had just enough time to jerk his head up and watch the ghostly form of the horse and headless rider leap after him, jumping through the space between the ash poles. The specter screamed, his black, smoky form wavering in the air. It was if dirty water was being passed through a sieve, so to the dark spirit slowly turned into the white, pure energy of a Quickening from front to back.   
  
The first crackle of energy sped to the Highlander, pounding him into the dirt as it struck. His body arched as the terrible power coursed over it, a scream ripped from his lungs. "Duncan," Tessa cried out, struggling against Richie to run to her lover.   
  
"Tess, no," Richie begged. "You can't help him." The two watched, powerless, as the lightning ventured out, striking the trees, the poles, even the stream. Huge geysers of water shot up on either side of the bridge, raining down on the writhing Immortal. With one last agonized scream, Duncan's body convulsed as the bridge exploded in a fiery ball of flame, shooting skyward.   
  
Duncan fell limp, his voice silenced. The explosion stopped, and no more tendrils of lightning appeared. It was then Richie let go of Tessa, watching her frantically run to the Highlander, cradling him in her arms. She called his name over and over, fearful of what had happened. If Richie had not witnessed it before, he probably would be scared as well.   
  
It took Duncan a moment, but he managed to struggle to his feet, Tessa helping him. The dark woods were quiet, but peaceful this time. "It's over," the Immortal told them, motioning for Richie to come over. Fearful, the young man did. "We won't let you get away from us so easily, Richie Ryan," he announced, pulling the teenager into the hug. "You're part of our family, now. For better or worse. Just don't lose faith in us." They stood like that for an hour, until the sun rose over the mountains.   
  
Search and Rescue found them three hours later.   
  


* * *

  
**EPILOGUE (The Future)**  
  
"I want you to beg," David Keogh spat, his words surrounded by ragged breath. The sword was poised, ready for the final blow at an unprotected neck. It was cold in the dark alleyway, steam from unseen pipes billowing all around them. "After all you've done to me, I want to hear you plead for forgiveness!"   
  
Duncan MacLeod didn't grace his opponent with a reply. For the twentieth time in the last minute, he glanced at his katana, lying too far away. Nothing was left that could save him, no trick, no move. Even no mercy. He knelt, waiting for the end. It was not long in coming.   
  
"There...can...be...only...ONE!" David cried as he swung.   
  
The Highlander closed his eyes, his only acknowledgment of defeat. The whistling of the blade as it cut the air reached his ears, then...nothing.   
  
Duncan rose to his feet, unsure of what had just happened. He felt no pain, only a small knot of tension deep inside. The alleyway had turned even darker, the air finally still, but cold. Stumbling around, the Highlander tried to find his sword. He could see only David, kneeling in the middle of the alley, arms outstretched. Waiting for a Quickening, Duncan imagined.   
  
It was strange. David was almost glowing a sickly green, his shirt being whipped by the strong breeze. Duncan didn't feel the wind, or even hear it. He only felt...a loss.   
  
David rested, glad the fight was over. It had been hard, wrestling against the few remaining feelings for his old friend, but certain things had to be avenged. And now, he could have the luxury of regrets. He waited for the inevitable Quickening, preparing himself for the onrush of power he knew Duncan had collected. MacLeod. The name tripped over his tongue silently as his eyes darted toward the decapitated head only a few feet in front of him. Poor old Duncan. It was a surprise to feel a hand on his shoulder, instead of the faint tickling of power he was expecting.   
  
David turned and looked. And then screamed.


End file.
